


it's only time

by Liu



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (Comics), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, Legends of Tomorrow spoilers, M/M, platonic coldflash, post-LoT 1x15, well coldflash if you squint lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 04:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6838396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liu/pseuds/Liu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[SPOILERS for LoT 1x15 and Flash 2x21]</p><p>What happens after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's only time

**Author's Note:**

> Just a silly thing I just HAD to write because it popped up in my head after LoT's latest episode. A fix-it of sorts; you don't need to know the Flash comics to understand, but one of the main points of this fic was shamelessly taken from the comic, so this is a disclaimer of sorts, I suppose.
> 
> ColdFlash if you squint, but could be read as platonic pretty easily.

The cabin crouches at the edge of the woods, unassuming and simple. The sprawling field slopes upwards, guiding Barry’s steps when he slows to a walk, his speed still crackling around him from the long run. He does not know where he is, or when, or on which Earth from the multitude of possibilities; he does not even know if he _is_ on an Earth, when he lets himself take in his surroundings. The grass sways gently in the warm breeze and the forest whispers from afar, but there is something subtly odd about the place, almost alien, eerie – wildflowers bloom where Barry walks, too quickly to be caused by the rising sun warming his back.

He doesn’t understand why he’s here, but he knows it is inevitable: when he woke this morning, the soft shadows of the new day urged him to run, and he did, and now his suit is damp with morning dew and he does not know what he will find when he reaches the rough wooden structure peeking out from beneath the heavy branches.

He’s still some way from the cabin when the door opens, and Barry’s breath catches in his lungs, expectation, terror and exhilaration swirling in him and making him halt. A lone figure emerges, and it takes Barry a moment, but he recognizes the man who stands before him, slouching against the cabin’s doorway and watching him, quiet and unmoving. He doesn’t understand what Leonard Snart is doing here, or why the speed force guided him to this man, but he doesn’t slow until he’s mere feet away.

“I was expecting you, Barry,” Snart says, and there’s something wrong with his voice, not enough to be described in words, but a shiver runs down Barry’s spine and he can’t decide if he wants to turn and run or reach for the man and touch.

“Why?” he asks, and it sounds like a stupid question when it rings through the air, even though it makes perfect sense in Barry’s head.

“I’m expecting a lot of things, these days,” Snart smirks and ducks back into the cabin, leaving the door open behind him in a clear invitation. The cryptic answer makes Barry think of all the books and movies he used to love so much, before Eobard Thawne spoiled the wise-mentor trope for him. It’s an odd feeling to have while facing a known criminal, a man who used to be Barry’s nemesis – just as odd as the certainty that they somehow do not stand on the opposite ends of a black-and-white story anymore.

The cabin looks almost mundane inside, a simple table and a couple of chairs, an unmade bed with a colorful crocheted blanket, a small kitchenette with unwashed dishes in the slightly rusty sink. Bare walls, a window glaring into the darkness of the forest that the morning sun has not invaded yet.

Everything looks just a little bit out of place, and Barry feels sympathy for the everyday objects that sit just as awkwardly in this space as he feels.

“Why am I here?” he asks, even though there is no reason why Snart should have any answer to that. It was Barry who ran here, not knowing why, or where, he was going. But when Snart looks up at him, long hands cradling a cup of tea that stops steaming as Barry watches it, Barry knows that somehow, Snart will be able to explain.

“You tell me, _Flash_.”

Obviously, having the answers doesn’t mean Snart will actually _provide_ them. And isn’t that just like him, to be difficult at all times? It’s the first thing that feels familiar to Barry, and it gives him the courage to look up from the tea, up to the eyes of the man he never had trouble facing before.

“Don’t play games with me, Snart, I don’t have the time for this.”

Somehow, that makes Snart laugh, a quiet, breathy sound that sends another tremor down Barry’s spine. It takes a moment for him to recognize the vibrations as something much more familiar, much more unique to him, to his powers, and Barry’s eyes widen.

“You’re a-“

Snart interrupts him before the impossible leaves Barry’s mouth.

“No, I’m not a speedster. At least not in the way you think.”

Barry lets the mind-reading go in lieu of focusing on a much more important question.

“Is there _another_ way?” he frowns, and Snart looks at him, expectant, as if he thinks Barry will somehow divine his answer out of his blue eyes. He doesn’t – but he wonders if Snart’s eyes have always been quite this unsettling shade or if they merely seem to be glowing, almost turquoise, in the strange morning light.

“Just tell me,” he pleads, and startles when the wooden walls around them creak loudly. He looks around for an attack, heart kicking up as his body subconsciously reaches for the speed force simmering under his skin, but he finds no immediate source of danger. The wood wails again, a sad sound that grates on Barry’s nerves, and his gaze snaps back to Snart.

“Are you doing this?”

“Not me,” the man smirks and sips his tea. There’s a thin, shiny film on top of the liquid when Barry watches it settle back in the cup, as if the tea has been sitting out there for a while, which doesn’t make any sense, considering that it was steaming just a minute ago. “You.”

It shocks Barry enough to look up at Snart again, stomach roiling with tension.

“Me?”

“Yes. Your speed, to be precise.”

“Snart,” he snaps, frustrated and so very much not wanting to be here anymore, “just tell me-“

“Don’t you already know, Scarlet? You’ve been in the speed force, after all.”

He has no idea how Snart could possibly know that: for all Barry knows, the man has not even been in Central for months, much less close enough to the STAR Labs that he would somehow be aware of what happened. And it did not happen _that_ long ago: forty-eight hours since Barry came back from his venture into the speed force, and the cabin looks too much lived in for someone to have been here only for such a short time.

The odd sensation of being drawn to Snart resurfaces, and Barry sighs.

“Look, I don’t know anything. All I know is that I woke up and something just- I _had_ to come. If you needed to talk, you could’ve just called, or something.”

It’s weird, he knows – he’s not sure he would’ve listened if his old nemesis suddenly said ‘hi’ on the other end of a phone line, but something about the thought of Snart magically pulling him here doesn’t sit well with Barry, at all.

Snart gives him an odd look, which Barry is slowly getting accustomed to as the new norm, and shrugs:

“Wouldn’t have helped. We’re connected now, you and I.”

The walls let out a crackling sound and Barry itches to get away, to pull Snart with him, out of this house that sounds like it’s going to collapse soon. He shoots an angry glare at his surroundings, silently threatening the cabin not to fall on their heads, and then he leans over the table to offer that same frustrated look to the man across from him.

“Stop doing this, okay? What are you trying to pull here, creep me out with a run-down shack? What’s your plan, Snart? What do you _need_ from me?”

“I just need… to be,” the man says, slowly, quietly, as if his answer is strange to his own ears. His glowing eyes fix on Barry and the speedster almost wishes that he’d look away, but he refuses to be the one to budge first, so he keeps the unsettling gaze in the world’s strangest staring contest, and waits.

“As I said,” Snart continues, after an excruciating second, “it’s not me doing this, to the house. Or to my drink,” he smirks and pushes the cup towards Barry. The oily stains are starting to pale, small specks forming on the surface, and Barry, to his astonishment, realizes it’s mold. He gasps, but can’t look away.

“It’s-“

“Old, yes,” Snart agrees. “It’s both of us, actually. Your speed force, and my-… presence, let’s say.”

“We… we have the combined power to make things old?” Barry raises an eyebrow at the man and blinks. That is, no doubt, the weirdest thing he’s ever heard and Snart can’t be serious – except that his face says otherwise, serene and almost statue-like, which is an odd contrast to the way he would normally smirk and grimace and scowl.

“It doesn’t happen if I focus,” Snart says, staring at his moldy tea like he could undo the damage. Barry has an eerie feeling that maybe, he could. “Can’t stop it when you’re here.”

Barry blurts out a ‘why’ before he can think twice about whether or not he wants to hear the answer. He almost wishes he could pretend that he’s just having a really weird dream, but no dream of his has ever felt quite this odd.

“Because of the way speed force works. Never wondered why the speed force has been there since the beginning of _time­_?” he asks, and Barry gives him a quizzical look when he puts too much emphasis on that last word. It feels like the answer is scratching at the back of his mind, but he can’t grasp it, however hard he tries. “It’s not just making you fast, Scarlet. When you run, you help the time move along.”

The sharp breath that stabs into his lungs makes him light-headed for a second; he gapes at Snart, trying to process the information that should feel ridiculous but instead, just settles true close to Barry’s heart.

“What…?” he says, weakly, as if he believed for a second that he heard wrong.

“It never needed a physical presence before,” Snart shrugs, as if they’re discussing weather and not unfathomable, eternal physical laws depending on ordinary forensic scientists to _exist_. “But the time-stream has been damaged, and so the speed force chose you. The _time_ chose you, Barry.”

It’s overwhelming, to even think about it, so Barry reroutes his thoughts to a safer, if defensive, path.

“If it chose me, why are _you_ here?” he frowns: last time he saw Snart, the man was definitely no metahuman, and _most_ definitely not a speedster.

“Because it chose me, too,” Snart says, voice calm and words preposterous, unimaginable. His eyes seem to glow brighter and Barry feels the crackle of his speed bursting around his fingertips like fireworks, agitation making it difficult for him to settle down. The house lets out an ominous sound; the table underneath his hands darkens and creaks – it looks like the wood has dried out in mere seconds, the ridges of the grain becoming deeper, more pronounced. He yanks his hands away, but the damage has been done – the difference between the place where Barry’s hands have rested and the rest of the table is undeniable.

“What’s going on?” he yelps and jumps out of his chair, suddenly worried that it will collapse under him.

“Relax, Scarlet. It’s only time.”

“Only time? Isn’t it happening kind of, you know, _fast_?!”

He’s on the verge of panic, and the wooden floorboards creak and whine underneath his feet. Snart stands up and rounds the table – Barry takes a step back, and he doesn’t know if it’s even at human speed, but Snart’s at his side in the next moment anyway, and his bony fingers wrap around Barry’s arms.

The touch is like a shock to his system – for a second, air refuses to fill his lungs and Barry’s eyes widen as the first wave of panic hits him hard; but then Snart’s grip tightens and… it all just washes away, leaving Barry feel weak and groggy, like he’s just recovered from an illness, like he’s just had a hangover cured by strong pain medication. Snart holds him up, though, doesn’t let his knees buckle, and Barry finds himself grappling for purchase and finding it when his fingers tighten in the man’s thermal shirt.

“What’s happening?” he forces out, because the panic might have ebbed but it’s still splashing at the back of his mind, threatening to spill over.

“Calm down, Barry,” Snart repeats, and Barry kind of wants to kick him, but for some reason, he takes a deep breath… and does as he’s told. The creaking beneath his feet quietens and the sudden silence startles him just as much as the noise has before.

“This is why you have come here,” Snart speaks, and for the first time since Barry has arrived, the sound of his voice doesn’t set Barry’s teeth on edge. He doesn’t know if it’s the physical connection, but it grounds him, in a way, and he refuses to let go. That’s fine – Snart’s not letting go either, and Barry subconsciously leans forward, just an inch into Snart’s tempting personal space. “Anyone else, I could have stopped. But not you. With your connection to the speed force, you’re… out of time, so to speak. It doesn’t affect you the way it does others. _I_ don’t affect you.”

“What the hell _are_ you?“ Barry whispers, when it becomes apparent that this is the only possible question at the moment.

“It’s not – it’s just the only one you have to ask,” Snart smirks, again with the mind-reading, and the chills down Barry’s spine are back. He has never been afraid of Snart before, but now, wariness creeps up on him and he thinks back to the speed force, impersonating Joe, Iris, his father, his _mother_.

“I assure you I _am_ who you see,” Snart replies to Barry’s thoughts, barely even formed into words, and Barry swallows, hard. “But I also am connected to the time stream – not exactly the way you’re connected to the speed force, but similar. Listen to me, Barry: you can’t tell anyone about this, do you understand?”

“Why not?” he asks – weird voices and delusions in people’s heads often ask to be kept a secret and Barry cannot, _will not_ go mad; definitely not before he defeats Zoom and makes sure everyone’s safe.

“Because time wants to happen, but some people might want it to happen differently.”

A shadow crosses Snart’s face for a moment, and Barry wonders what this man has been through, to become… _this_ , whatever this is. To be connected to time itself, he guesses, even though it still sounds odd even as a thought.

“It _is_ odd. It is also dangerous. And this... part of me, what I have become, it remembers men who have tried using it, _me_ , for their own purposes. They thought their goals were noble: some of them, at least. But time wants to happen, _as it is_ , and it will.”

There’s something final, unchangeable in Snart’s words and Barry shudders at the thought of what this man, this _being_ , could do. ‘Time wants to happen’ is such a weird phrase – it makes Barry wonder what time will want, when it has a consciousness, a mind, a physical body to use. Snart laughs, and Barry knows now that he is responding to what Barry’s thinking.

It’s strange how quickly he has become accustomed to that.

“Time really just wants to happen, Barry. Thing is, I can see it happening when I’m near people. Not nearly as dramatic as when _you’re_ close, granted, but people lose days, _weeks_ of life around me. As I said – you can’t tell anyone.”

He lets go of Barry then – Barry feels the loss like a physical sensation, a warm blanket that has been dragged off his shoulders, leaving him standing in a chilly draft all alone. He shivers, and Snart reaches out again, but the gesture halts mid-way and his arm drops to his side again.

“Go now. You have a world to save… and you will.”

Barry can see in Snart’s face that it’s not something he has planned to say – mild displeasure curves his mouth downwards and Barry grasps at the chance he’s been offered.

“I will defeat Zoom?”

Snart gives him a pained look, and he seems to be at war with himself for a split second before he answers, reluctantly and slowly.

“Yes. You have been chosen by the speed force; he is an impostor, a thief. That’s why you will win.”

“But how?” Barry presses on, and the cynical rise of Snart’s eyebrow curls like something warm in Barry’s stomach, more human than most of his expressions from the past minutes. And he cannot believe only minutes have passed for real: it could very well be that months and years have sailed by, with Barry’s speed and Snart’s… whatever.

“Just because I can see and shape time doesn’t mean I’m gonna be your magical eight-ball, Scarlet,” he snaps, so incredibly human in his sarcasm that Barry’s heart leaps into his throat. Before he can think about it, he’s stepping into Snart’s space and wrapping an arm around the man’s shoulders, the warmth of that blanket back up over him for a split second before he steps back, faster than he can be pushed away.

“Thank you,” he says, because now, even though he does not have a plan, he has _hope_ again. If time wants to happen, and time wants him to win, then he _will_ , regardless of the seemingly impossible odds.

And when he does, he might just bring the ‘time’ an edible arrangement… made out of long-lasting rations.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at/with me on [tumblr.](http://pheuthe.tumblr.com/)


End file.
